Taste
by TMBlue
Summary: Could she live with an imperius curse, a boggart, a possession? She could do only one thing, one battle against the future that left her destroyed, alone. She could open another book. Post-DH. Ron/Hermione.
1. July 1998

_**A/N:** Hey! So for those of you following **Thieves** , I know I have mentioned working on it, and I am... furiously. I have the next chapter done and SHOULD be posting within the next few weeks. It's been a real headache combing back through everything I've written to make sure I'm not accidentally contradicting myself (ah, returning to a story FOREVER later...). But, in the meantime, I had been working on this once-a-month story, and then all of a sudden it was JULY, and I had planned to post a chapter on the first of each month, to correspond with the month featured in that chapter of the story._

 _So! I hope you enjoy this fic, and I apologize for the insane length of it. I hadn't intended to write 6K - 7K chapters, but apparently, that's what's happening for this!_

 _Also, if you enjoy a bit of music with your fic, check out Lykke Li's "Sleeping Alone," which is the song I paired up with this chapter in a playlist I made over on Spotify for it._

 _Oh, and I realize this story isn't rated M, so far, but I have labeled it M because the fic does eventually go M... so there's your warning._

* * *

 **July 1998**

It had taken three weeks to find her parents. Ron and Harry had shared the room next to hers in a Muggle hotel, but she had found herself regretting her decision not to bunk with them, almost immediately. She wasn't sure if it was the learned familiarity of sharing the tent, the fact that she now missed Ron if they were apart for more than an hour, or a simple unwillingness to be alone.

When they'd finally come home, she'd set her mind to the guilt-ridden task of helping her parents start their lives again. The fact that she'd spent the last few years growing apart from them didn't help.

And so, as she kept busy working at repairing the damage, it didn't surprise her when Harry and Ron began their Auror training mid-July. But what did surprise her were the owls she began to receive on a near daily basis, summoning her to Ministry hearings for cases involving deaths during the war, stolen property, and fact-checking for historical texts. With her own memories of the war still much too fresh, she wanted to be doing absolutely anything else. But she found herself dragged in and out of windowless rooms nonetheless, sat on long benches for hours to wait, and called before terrifyingly official people to give testimony.

She was sat on one such bench at present, trying to work out why she'd been called for a case that had taken place before she'd even left the Burrow, the previous summer...

"Hermione!" Ron bellowed as he sprinted down the long hallway toward her. He'd been out on a raid as part of his training, and she hadn't seen him in nearly a week. God, she'd missed him.

She smiled with relief and slowly stood as he approached her.

"Why the bloody hell have they got you down here?" he asked, glancing from the bench on his left to the closed hearing room doors on his right.

"Hello to you, too."

He froze and smiled down at her.

"M'sorry," and he tilted forward to kiss her. He was blushing when he pulled away again, and she couldn't help smiling. "Blimey, I missed you. But honestly," he continued.

"I don't know," she sighed. "They've been owling me for all sorts of things I've no knowledge about. So, they're wasting time, really."

"They haven't owled me... or Harry, either, as far as I know."

"Well, you've been gone with the Aurors since they started owling _me_ , haven't you," she reasoned.

"Right."

"Don't know," she continued. "They've seemed a bit disorganised, honestly, but I imagine they have a lot to sort through."

"Well," he sniffed. "I apparated straightaway to your parents', once we'd got notice to return to the Ministry to file reports. Wasn't exactly supposed to do that, but I wasn't gonna wait for the whole bloody department to finish paperwork before seeing you. Your parents told me you were down here, but they didn't know where. Spent the last hour trying to find you."

Concerned, she widened her eyes at him.

"Will you be in trouble? You should check in..."

"Yeah," he shrugged. "It's alright."

She felt a bit fluttery that he'd risked being reprimanded, or even suspended, just to find her, despite her stern disapproval of his breaking of the rules.

"Go on, then," she said, trying not to smile. "Better do it now before you make it any worse."

"Alright, mum," he teased. "Can I come by your house tonight?"

"Please."

He grinned and reached for her wrist, cheeks pink and averting eyes. He tugged her gently, and she stepped closer, tilting her head back as he bent to kiss her again.

* * *

She really wished her parents would go to bed. As much as she wanted to be there for them, to help them readjust to their real lives here, she was finding it increasingly difficult to get any time alone with Ron. Her father always had something to talk about that Ron didn't particularly understand - Muggle sports like tennis or football, techniques he was trying in the garden he'd recently planted, or the types of coffee he was brewing in his new French press. She wasn't sure if her father really did just keep forgetting that of course Ron wasn't familiar with the intricate details of Muggle life, or if he kept bringing up inaccessible topics to test Ron's ability to keep smiling and nodding for an indeterminate length of time.

She had to congratulate Ron on feigning interest for far longer than she thought she would be able to, if the situation had been reversed. But she couldn't think of a way to extract Ron from these sorts of conversations while simultaneously maintaining her penance for completely altering her parents' lives for the duration of the previous year...

By the time her mother switched on the telly to watch a late night news programme, it was half eleven, and she was beginning to doubt that her parents would be turning in before Ron felt obligated to shove off home. But then, he scooted closer to her on the sofa, catching her eyes with the tiniest of smirks, twitching an eyebrow as she pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

She linked her arm through his and felt him tense for a second before relaxing, sliding a few inches down the back of the sofa to reduce their height difference, bringing his head closer to hers as he smiled. He was always nervous to be openly affectionate in front of her parents, but, at the same time, he always seemed happy about it when she'd get closer to him in public. She suspected he felt that if she was the one who moved closer, it was alright to do it, and that she really wanted him, consciously stamping down the part of him that held onto the doubt that had poisoned him for so long.

After a few lazy minutes, he stretched his legs out along the rug in front of the sofa and reached across his stomach with his free arm to lace his fingers with hers, rubbing a thumb absently across her knuckles. She closed her eyes, goosebumps rising up her arm.

"Hermione," her mother began, "you should turn in. Haven't you got an early appointment? And Ron has work."

She slowly opened her eyes, annoyed.

"Mum-"

"We'll just finish this programme and lock up. You go on," her mother continued, interrupting.

Hermione sighed, frustrated as Ron let go of her hand and stretched.

"Thanks for the tea," he said, nodding at her parents as he stood.

"Of course," her dad said, smiling, "but consider less sugar next time. Teeth rot, you know."

"Dad," Hermione protested, but she cut off whatever she'd been planning to say next, standing to follow Ron to the entryway.

When they reached the front door, she stepped through after Ron and shut it behind them, standing with him in the porch, finally alone.

"Pretty sure I'm out of acceptable responses on growing tomatoes," Ron grinned.

She sighed and rubbed a knuckle between her eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Nah," and he nudged her with his elbow, still smiling.

She looked up at him, tired but happy that he didn't seem at all bothered by the uncomfortable situation she kept putting him in, seeing him here. She wanted to explain to him how much it meant to her, to apologise again anyway for the way things were... for making it complicated by her need to be present for her parents now. But before she could say anything else, he swept an arm around her and hugged her, dropping his face to the top of her head.

"For the record," she mumbled against his chest, hugging him back, "I love it that you over-sugar your tea."

"Yeah?" he laughed into her hair. "That's specific."

"Want me to list all the specific things you do that I love?" she grinned, face still hidden against him as her cheeks flushed.

"Go on."

She lifted her head to narrow her eyes at him.

"I don't think we have that kind of time."

His eyes widened a fraction before relaxing shyly again. He smiled down at her in that sort of way she couldn't explain, like he couldn't quite believe she was with him... that she could say the things she would say about him, and truly mean it. Funny, when she felt all of those things in return, about him. It nearly made the years they'd spent dancing around each other seem insignificant, knowing that even though it had been for nothing at the time - a shared unnecessary fear of rejection - it certainly meant a lot now… now that they were together.

"Come to the Burrow on Sunday, and we can swim in the lake," he requested, cheeks going a bit pink.

"Love to," she breathed, standing up on her toes to kiss him. The thought of spending most of a day in bathing costumes, away from her family... She didn't want to admit how excited the thought made her, able to push aside her self-inflicted obligations so easily...

When they parted, a moment later, Ron brushed a finger along her temple, freeing a strand of hair that had stuck to her eyelashes.

"They're doing alright," he said, reassuringly, possibly reading her mind. "You've done loads for them. I know they're grateful for that, even if they seem a bit... testy sometimes."

"I know. Thank you. I just... I don't know, Ron. Mum's treating me as if I'm thirteen again, telling me when to go to bed and reminding me of my own schedule..."

"Speaking of, are you expected at a hearing again?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "It'll be alright."

"It's weird, yeah? What's this one even about?"

"Fact checking, for official records, actually."

"Well," he admitted, "at least that's relevant. You'll be great for that."

She smiled at him as he finally extracted himself from her, yawning.

"Reckon I should get back before I fall asleep in your front porch."

"I wouldn't mind," she smiled.

He took her hand, looking down as he scuffed his feet against the concrete.

"I love you, Hermione."

Her heart skipped.

"God, I'll never get tired of hearing you say that," she shivered. "I love you, too."

He grinned at her and pulled their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of hers.

"Wicked."

He let her go then, turning and walking down the front stairs, taking two more steps away before turning round again, hands in his pockets.

"Night," he called up, still grinning.

Her stomach fluttered as he stepped slowly backward.

"Goodnight."

And then he turned once more, disappearing into the bushes, pausing silently for a moment before she heard the soft crack of him disapparating.

She breathed in the night air for a moment before sighing and going back inside. The telly was still on, chattering voices drifting from the sitting room. But she remained, frozen for a moment, in the entryway.

She had to do it. She'd been thinking, lately, that although she could tolerate the undertone of disappointment, disapproval or general lack of understanding that had come from her parents since they had returned home, she wouldn't let them direct it toward Ron. And something about the way they had been... It seemed as if they were actively trying to block her from spending time with him. They knew how hard she was trying, to be there for them, and yet...

She walked back to the sitting room before she could change her mind.

"Mum," she announced, as she approached the settee, "you know I've never overslept for an appointment. And it's been years since you told me when to go to bed. Tell me the truth - are you being like this because- ...because of what I did to you? Or do you have some kind of a problem with Ron?"

Her mother glanced at her father before addressing her.

"Hermione," she began, "we really don't understand what happened when you sent us away. We know you've said it was for our own safety, and of course we believe you, but... from our perspective, surely you can see how it comes into question that you've spent so much time with Ron and Harry, and how that friendship could have endangered you-"

"You're right that you don't understand," Hermione interrupted, trying to keep her voice even. "I love him, Mum. And you don't really know him… apparently. He saved my life. We protect each other. We're alive now because of that. And it's not me being naive about it, before you suggest that. I've known how I've felt about him for ages. And it's not going to change."

Her parents looked across at each other again.

"You don't trust me because of what I did," Hermione continued, in a much smaller voice, "and I'm so sorry for that. You have no idea how sorry I am. But I know that I did the right thing, even though it hurt so much to do it. I'm going to be here as much as I can, and I love you both. But I need you to understand what I have with Ron - and my friendship with Harry, too - and how important those things are to me."

"Alright," her father said, smiling briefly at her and nodding. "We know."

Her mother finally nodded as well. And it was about the best she could expect, for now. At least she could hope that they'd be more understanding when she spent time away with Ron, which she almost instantly began plotting, as she ascended the stairs to her room...

* * *

Her hearing had taken most of the morning, and she had been told that Ron was to be in meetings all day, so she had just about given up seeing him before supper when she cut through a narrow corridor toward the main hallway back down to the lifts and spotted him, heading in the opposite direction.

"Ron!"

But he hadn't heard her. So she reached out quickly and tugged his shirt sleeve to stop him from passing her.

"Oi!" he started, stumbling back. But his startled expression morphed into a grin as he spotted her. "Oh! Hey!"

"Where are you off to now?" she asked, smiling as he ducked down the side hallway to join her.

"Another bloody meeting. What's up?" He tilted his head over her a bit, bringing their faces closer together, searching her eyes.

"Nothing, really," she admitted. "Just haven't seen you today."

"Oh, yeah," he sighed, slowly leaning even closer. "I'm sorry. Reckoned I'd come round your parents' place at the end of the day again."

She nodded, chewing her lip nervously as she looked down. This was the moment. She had to ask him before he disappeared back into the fray of the Auror department, not to be seen again until supper time.

"What?" he asked, in that adorably almost-panicked way he had done so often around her lately. Could he _really_ still be worried she'd ever want anything but him?

She lifted her eyes back up to his, finding them slightly wider and darting. But of _course_ he was.

"Ron," she breathed, leaning into him. He slung an arm around her and pressed his nose to the top of her head.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong, or do I need to start guessing?" he muttered into her hair, his heart pounding against the side of her face.

"Nothing's wrong! Promise," she assured him, pulling back so she could look up at him, but not far enough that she'd give him any reason to remove his arm. She quite liked the position she found herself in... "It's just that it's not the best, seeing you at my parents'. You know that. Aside from dad stealing you all night to chat about _everything_ , I always feel guilty when I'm there, like I should be doing something for them. And it's so crowded at the Burrow, not to mention your mother still won't let us shut your bedroom door... ever."

Ron grinned down at her, his fingers trailing down her spine before he removed his arm from around her to rest his elbow against the wall, over her head, to his right.

"Yeah, I've never figured out how she even has time to notice what I'm doing, but she always does..."

"I was thinking," and she chewed her lip again, for a moment, working up to it.

They had never spent the night together before. And as the weeks had passed, she had started to feel something she couldn't quite explain. She wanted him with her, all the time, not just during the day when he could get away from training. Not just in front of their families while they shared a meal, trying to find a secluded place after to snog before the other had to go home. She had been pondering how to ask him all day, but there really was no other way than just getting on with it.

"Tomorrow's Harry's birthday, and anyway, you won't have training. So maybe, instead of my house, we could go to the Leaky Cauldron or something, you know, for the night... just to get away. Then we can go back to the Burrow together later tomorrow, for Harry's party..."

His eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly.

"You mean... _stay_ overnight? Me and you? _Just_ me and you?"

"Well, yes," she said, voice quivering a bit with nerves.

He stared down at her for what felt like a full year.

"It was just an idea," she mumbled, breaking eye contact and wondering how to best escape the narrow corridor without shoving him out of the way.

"That's brilliant," he said quickly, and her eyes darted back up to his. His ears were quite a deep shade of red, eyes a bit wider than before, corner of his mouth lifted in a half-grin.

"Really?"

"Bloody hell. Can we go right now?" he teased, tilting his head to the side to run his fingers through his hair.

She laughed, relieved.

"Merlin, that was scary," she admitted.

"Why?" he asked, incredulous.

She shrugged.

"No way you thought I'd turn that down."

"You might have..." she mumbled.

He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of a cobweb.

"Blimey. Trust me, you don't ever have to worry about that."

She blushed as she smiled, feeling a bit lightheaded.

"What are you doing now?" he asked.

"Nothing, really," she sighed. "But… I expect it's a good time to go home and get some clothes for tomorrow, leave a note for my parents so they won't expect me home for dinner when they get back from work..."

He grinned at her, and she felt her stomach flip excitedly.

"Reckon you could pop round the Burrow for me, too? After last year, I think you've been thoroughly enough through my clothes that you'll know what to grab… Just forget the tight jeans though, yeah?"

She laughed, cheeks burning to match his ears.

"What about your mum?"

"Ah. I'll get Harry to mention to her that I'm not coming back tonight. That'll keep us from getting stalled at the Burrow, explaining til dawn..."

Hermione raised a questioning brow.

"Won't she hex you tomorrow?"

Ron grinned at her again, scratching the back of his neck before reaching out to tangle his fingers in her hair.

"Eh, worth it," he said, and he bent, covering her with his shadow before kissing her.

She closed her eyes and clutched the collar of his shirt, moaning lightly against his lips as he moved his hand through her hair to hold the back of her head. He slid his tongue along her bottom lip, shivering. She balanced on her toes to reach him until he pulled back just enough to breathe.

"God, you taste amazing," he rasped against her parted lips. "What is it? Reminds me of that ruddy perfume I got you, fifth year..."

"Earl Grey tea," she laughed, stomach butterflying. "And you're right. That perfume smells pretty strongly of bergamot..."

"Ah," he breathed, nose brushing hers. "Reckon I know what I love."

"Weasley, come on!" shouted a passing voice, from the main corridor, behind him.

He rolled his eyes, leaning down quickly and kissing the side of her nose before backing away, dropping her hand with a nod.

"Six o'clock, outside the training rooms?"

She smiled and nodded her reply, and he ran a hand across his stubbly jaw, smiling back and watching her with glistening eyes, until the last possible moment, until he was finally forced to turn away as he cleared the corner of the hall.

* * *

She had returned home and packed a small bag before apparating to the Burrow and packing for Ron. It was oddly affecting, though she'd packed for him before when they'd been planning to leave the previous summer. But this was different now, because it wasn't for necessity, this time.

Returning to the Ministry half an hour early, she'd wandered the corridors on her way back to the Auror department, crossing several halls of archives and a records room. Curiously, she'd turned down a long passageway, marveling at the stacks of books on high shelves overlooking rows and rows of desks used for research. Locked rooms beyond revealed bulky filing cabinets through thick glass walls, and she wondered absently what they held.

Several witches passed her on their way to the loo at the opposite end of the hall, and a wizard brushed the hem of her cloak as he ducked through a narrow door to her left, disappearing out into a bustling corridor beyond. Checking her watch, she decided to abandon her wandering and search for Ron a few minutes earlier than they'd planned, realising that the corridor to her left must be one of the main ones that led back down to the lifts.

Stepping into the hall, she followed the flow of traffic, having no other choice. People moved back and forth quickly, arms weighed down by stacks of heavy texts, clutching files, and hovering the occasional full filing cabinet before them.

All at once, there was an odd sort of sound, like the cracking of thunder, very close by. She briefly wondered why it sounded so loud, so far underground.

And then, she was stumbling to the floor.

Screams. All around her. The walls seemed to vibrate, crumbling as she looked up. Comprehension dawning, she understood only one thing... Danger. Right now. And right here.

Gasping, she crawled right and pressed herself to the wall as people began to fall, all around her, some toppling over completely, spilling files and books, wavering mid-air and booming to the floor. One wizard close by was staggering, attempting to hold up his load, but failing, crushed to the wall by the weight of a cabinet.

Panic began to fill her as the ground quaked, a jagged, heavy crack trailing along from one end, so surreal it almost felt impossible, as if she was watching it happen in a Muggle film. And then, the shouts resumed, controlled this time, issuing commands from the opposite end of the corridor. Several Aurors were running toward the scene from the stairwell by the lifts, fifty metres or so straight ahead.

Something significant was happening... something they must have prepared for.

Masks. They were handing out masks, frantically distributing them to the workers who littered the corridor now, some gasping and pressed to the walls, others half-lying on the floor and attempting to rescue their files as they were approached, heavy black masks pressed to their faces by the Aurors who, she could now see, all wore the same ones.

The Auror closest to her ducked quickly through a door to her left, one that led back into the large library and files rooms she'd come from moments ago. Without calculating her decision, she felt she needed to follow him, and she was certain that whatever it was that was happening, she needed one of those masks. Now.

"Wait!" came a shout, from much too close.

A large wizard careened down the corridor behind her, wand raised to summon a mask as another Auror passed them, too far away to reach.

"Accio!" and a mask flew toward the wizard's outstretched hand. He just barely managed to catch it, slipping it over his nose and mouth. But, as if in slow motion, she watched as a chunk of the ceiling ripped away, falling too fast for her to warn him. It struck him, hard, over the top of the head, and he fell, like a lead weight, directly on top of her, passed out, flattening her to the floor and trapping her, pressed halfway against the wall.

She cried out, the sound of her voice completely lost in the chaos. Desperately, she attempted to push the man off of her, struggling to free her wand from her jeans pocket.

And then, she saw it. Seeping out from the cracks in the wall, the ceiling... the floor... from underneath the now-closed doors that led through to the file rooms. A thick, yellow smoke, oozing closer toward her with each breath.

She screamed, hardly able to hear the sound of her own voice through the madness around her.

But _he_ heard her.

"HERMIONE!"

Ron bolted down the corridor and skidded to a stop, collapsing to his knees and hovering over her. With a frantic swish of his wand, the unconscious wizard was lifted off her aching body, hovering and sliding away from her. Ron ducked underneath him to find her gaze, eyes wide, over the mask he wore.

"Ron! Oh, thank Merlin! What's happening?!"

But he shook his head, eyes round and terrified. Behind him, the yellow smoke moved, like icy fingers slipping over his shoulders, reaching out for her.

"What _is_ that?! Ron, what-"

But with seconds before it would surely reach her face, he ripped off his mask and covered her nose and mouth with it instead, gasping as he grabbed her, pushing her flat to her back on the floor again, covering her with his own body. He pressed his face to her neck as she shut her eyes tight, arms flying around him as she held on, the floor cracking sickeningly around them.

* * *

She was lying on a white cot, with the soft sounds of murmuring voices nearby. Her head was throbbing, and she had no recollection of how she had come to be here. She sat up slowly, blinking. The room was dimly lit, and she quickly realised that she was alone. The voices she was hearing were drifting from an adjoining room, through a half-closed door.

She froze, suddenly recalling. She'd been pushed to the ground, her nose and mouth covered, that terrifying smoke moving overhead as she'd closed her eyes and-

"Ron!"

An elderly wizard ducked his head through from the adjoining room, eyebrows high.

"She's awake," he announced, fully opening the door and moving quickly into the room. Two female healers followed close behind, as well as another gray-haired wizard with wire-rimmed glasses, holding a tea tray.

"Please," she coughed, sitting up on the edge of what she now realised was an infirmary bed, as one of the healers knelt in front of her, "I need to see Ron Weasley. Do you know where he is?"

"Ms Granger," the healer began, ignoring her question, "do you remember what happened to you, in the corridor?"

"Yes, yes," she started, impatiently, "an explosion, and Ron- he..."

The healer gently touched Hermione's neck and looked into her eyes. The others formed a small semi-circle around her, and she caught the second healer whispering something discreetly to the wizard holding the tea tray.

"What's going on?" she demanded, suddenly filled with panic.

She pushed the healer away and stood on unsteady legs, quickly regaining her balance and searching for her wand. It was there, on a small table next to her bed. Removing it swiftly, she looked sternly up at the four faces that were now watching her carefully.

"Tell me where he is!"

"Mr Weasley is here, and he's safe. Don't worry, now," said the wizard with the glasses, calmly.

"I need to see him."

"Come with me, Ms Granger," the wizard continued, turning away from her and expecting her to follow him.

"You've got to take me to Ron," she demanded, taking one tentative step to follow him, wand shaky in her hand.

"Of course. I will," the wizard said, turning back. "But please, follow me."

* * *

It quickly became clear to Hermione that Mr Anson, which she had learned to be the name of the wizard leading her through the corridors, was not taking her _directly_ to Ron. She became even more agitated when he opened the door to a small office and ushered her inside, ahead of him.

"Sir, what-"

"Ms Granger, please, have a seat," and he gestured toward a chair in front of a walnut desk as he moved round to sit on the other side.

"Sir, with respect, I'll speak to you once I've seen Ron Weasley. You told me you were taking me to him, and-"

"I _will_ take you to him, absolutely. But he's being discharged momentarily, so if you will speak to me now, I believe they will let you both go once you've seen him."

"Oh." A bit of relief washed over her, and she sighed out a heavy breath as she consented to sit where she had been instructed.

Mr Anson studied her for a moment before speaking.

"I expect you'll be wondering what happened in that corridor this afternoon," he began.

Hermione nodded, still clutching her wand but resting her hands in her lap.

"What I'm going to tell you now must be treated as highly confidential. It must not leave this room until clearance is given, do you understand?"

"Yes."

He nodded and rested his forearms on his desk.

"The explosions you were witness to today were a direct attack on the Ministry's record offices. Your presence in that corridor was unexpected, which is why you were unprotected... until Mr Weasley stepped in. We had received a tip that something was planned for those offices, though that information was guarded, of course, and we did not know when, or in what capacity, such an attack might take place."

So they _had_ known something. The Aurors who had come to the aid of the workers in that department had been prepared, to some extent.

"And," Mr Anson continued, "perhaps you may also be curious as to why you have been summoned repeatedly to Ministry hearings, specifically those that pertained to events outside your knowledge."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. This was unexpected, a connection between the attack today and her presence at a growing list of official hearings.

"Well," she said, slowly, "I hadn't considered that could be relevant, sir."

"I'm afraid it is. You see, when we were warned of an impending attack, we were informed that the basis for that attack would be to clear the records office of anything to do with specific criminals, still at large, who would soon be brought to trial for crimes committed during the war this past year. As so many things had to be done to restore the Ministry - and all our internal affairs - after the chaos of the last year and a half or so, we were still a bit disorganised, unfortunately, with these wanted criminals' records. When word came through that an attack was being planned, we began a three-fold effort to counter it. The Department of Mysteries and the Auror Office worked together to produce protection - like the mask you were given - against the threat of poisoned gas, in addition to the Aurors' work on fortifying the walls of the records rooms against very powerful hexes and possible explosive potions. In the meantime, our archivists began work on duplicating records and moving unsolved cases to a new office. And, of course, as a final measure, we brought in anyone of prominence who might aid in calling war criminals to justice. We pushed cases weeks ahead of their deadlines to bring in as many suspects as possible."

Hermione shook her head slowly, lots of things falling into place now.

"Why wasn't I told what I was being used for?" she asked, directly.

"Security was our primary goal," Mr Anson explained, "and while, of course, we would trust some people with the information we had, it was deemed unwise to spread that knowledge beyond the select few who had initially received it. Even those in the Auror Office who worked on preventative measures for us didn't actually know why they were doing what they were. Those who rushed to the aid of the workers on that floor this afternoon were given a mask for each person logged into that area and sent down with their own faces covered, their only instruction being never to remove those masks, for risk of suffocation or poisoning."

"Poison..." Hermione echoed, stomach lurching uncomfortably. "Ron wasn't wearing his mask when I passed out. He gave it to me! Sir, you said he was-"

"He's alright," Mr Anson interrupted, in a not altogether reassuring way. "Though we haven't identified the gas he was exposed to, he has been quarantined, as you were before you woke, and his clothing has been destroyed, skin scrubbed of residue. No trace of the gas was found on him after that, and he responded immediately to a reviving spell. So, his healers have deemed him well enough to go home. He must not have inhaled too much of it because the only sign of anything amiss that we could determine was a bit of a cough and some irritability, which is to be expected, under the circumstances."

Hermione nodded, though something about it didn't quite sit well with her. So they didn't understand what this gas was, exactly? How could they know for sure that he was alright? She would have to watch him closely, to be sure.

"Aurors are searching, as we speak," Mr Anson continued, "for the suspect we think is responsible, and-"

"You haven't caught him?" Hermione cut over him, a shiver running down her spine.

"We _will_ catch him."

"How can I help?"

* * *

A quarter of an hour later, she was rushing down a narrow hall toward Ron's ward, bursting through the doors even as a nearby healer began to protest her lack of signing in to the front desk. She scanned the wide ward, searching for him, curtains pulled shut around most of the beds nearby.

And then, finally, she caught sight of his shaggy ginger head, bent over what looked like a plate of biscuits. She smiled, relieved, and hurried over to him.

"Ron!"

He didn't look up at the sound of her voice, but the male healer next to his bed was saying something to him, and she assumed he must not have heard her shouting for him.

Her lips parted, to call to him again, when she was waylaid by a young, female healer, who took her gently by the arm.

"Ms Granger?"

"Yes..."

"We just got word that you were coming to collect Mr Weasley. But we're just concluding his interview. If you could please wait, only for a moment... You can stand here with me."

Reluctantly, Hermione sighed and stayed put, close enough to Ron's bed now to hear what the male healer was asking him.

"Any other unusual sensations? Anything you don't recall from before the attack?"

Ron's head was still lowered as he cleared his throat to speak.

"Yeah," he said, voice terribly scratchy. "As it was happening, I could smell and taste violets, all around, like I was being suffocated by them."

Hermione froze, the soft scent of violets present in her own nostrils as well.

From her shampoo.

She swallowed and listened carefully as he continued speaking.

"Dunno, something tastes odd just now, too, but it's not the same thing. Can't place it."

"Anything else?" the healer asked, as a hovering quill jotted down their conversation on the clipboard that hovered before it.

Ron shook his head, face still angled down toward his lap.

"Alright. I think that'll be all, then." The healer snatched his quill and clipboard from mid-air and turned, leaving Ron's side.

The female healer who had waited with Hermione now nodded her assent for Hermione to approach.

Without another word, she rushed to his side.

"Ron!" she cried, as she skidded to a stop, legs pressing to the edge of his bed. "Oh, I've been trying to get to you since I woke up!"

He didn't respond, but his head twitched slightly.

"Can you hear me?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah."

She sighed out a heavy breath of relief.

"Do you feel alright? Are you sure you're-"

"I feel fine."

She nodded, briefly closing her eyes.

"They've probably told you as well, but they say they won't keep you any longer," she continued, thinking that she might need to get more clothing from home, to stay with him beyond just tonight, to make sure nothing would happen that they couldn't predict. "Ron, I was _so_ scared! Do you want to go to the Leaky like we planned? Do you feel up to it? Of course we can reschedule, if-"

He lifted his face, finally.

And she had to clutch the edge of his bed to keep from staggering back.

His eyes. They were no longer Ron's eyes, kind and loving, playful when he was telling a joke, creased with happiness when he was with her. These were the eyes of a stranger. Someone who loathed her, more than anything she could imagine.

"Why would I ever want to go there with you?"

She couldn't breathe. For a moment, her lungs froze solid, her eyes wide as she stared down into a face she had never seen before. Ron's face, altered by a hatred she had never known.

And then, she laughed, a sort of shrill, unrecognisable sound.

He glared, unflinching.

"Cut it out," she heard herself say, heart pounding fiercely in her ears as her knuckles whitened, gripping the edge of his bed unconsciously. "Quit teasing, Ron. Let's get out of here."

"Teasing?" he repeated, cheeks tinged an angry pink. "Who do you think you are to me? You're _nothing_."

She tried and failed to swallow, limbs going numb. And though a part of her mind refused it - it must be a dream, a hallucination, a twisted practical joke - her body seemed to already know the truth.

"Fucking hell," he spat, suddenly. "Can someone get this bloody disgusting taste out of my mouth?"

She stared at him, not really seeing him, as a healer approached his bed with a glass of juice. He gulped it down, a trickle escaping to run down his chin, over a speckling of ginger stubble.

Her eyes burned. Her chest ached. And her knees didn't work any longer. Clutching his bed to keep herself up, she watched as Ron lowered the now-empty glass and scoffed, averting his eyes from her as if looking directly at her again was too repulsive to him.

"Get. Her. Out." he demanded.

The healer took her arm, and she was jelly, unable to resist. But as she was dragged back through the infirmary doors, his fiery eyes flicked to hers one more time.

"I'm going to fix it," she cried.

His lips curled into a menacing smile.

"Fix it? Nothing to fix, you worthless c-"

And the door slammed shut, cutting off his words, to her shuddering relief.

* * *

 _ **Edit:** Thank you, shocolate, for "on the porch" vs "in the porch"! I had no idea it didn't make sense to use "on," as that is what I would say in the US._


	2. August 1998: Part 1

_**A/N:** So this was intended to be a full, single chapter for "August," but it got really, really long and I decided to split it up while I finish the second half. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

 **August 1998**

He'd been home for four days, but she'd been locked up at the Leaky, pouring over books. The part of her that needed to be with him was fighting intensely with the part that recalled, too vividly, the way he'd looked at her the last time she'd seen him.

She'd been to see everyone else she could think of at the Ministry. She'd met again with Roger Anson - whom she had learned was one of only five people in Magical Law who had known the attack was coming - and she had spent considerable time arguing with the healers at St. Mungo's, who had released Ron hours after the attack.

She'd met with his parents, at Mr Weasley's office, collecting news of his state of mind, the terrible way he'd been, sealed up in his room, shouting at anyone who came up to check on him. She'd have gone, immediately, to his side, fearing for his sanity, if not for Harry... who was now pacing her room at the Leaky, back and forth at the foot of her bed, hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets.

"And then he threw a bloody _chair_ at me. I disapparated immediately, but it caught me across the shoulder before I was gone. So no," he sighed, "I haven't tried to apparate directly into his room again since."

She took a deep breath to focus, shuddering at every piece of news that solidified Ron's illness.

If it could be called an illness, anyway...

"What about the mental health ward?" she asked, flipping through the piles of notes that littered her bed. She was sitting in the centre of them, cross-legged, stacks of books jostling on the mattress as she moved.

Harry shrugged and slumped down into an armchair.

"Unless he's actually insane, or proven very dangerous, they'll only see him voluntarily. And can you imagine what it would take to convince him to do _anything_ we ever asked him to do?"

Hermione ripped open a large book at random, trying to gather her thoughts.

"Right. He hasn't lost his memory. He knows exactly who we are and what we were to each other. But now, he just hates us... for no explainable reason."

"Yep."

"Well," she huffed, "could you tell the Aurors to get off their arses and do something?"

Harry suppressed a grin and toed off his shoes.

"To their credit, they've got a huge team assembled to find the bloke who they _think_ organised the attack," Harry put in, "if only they were sure it was him, in the first place..."

None of this was working, her body resisting her efforts to stay calm, to remind herself that this was real...

"I can't take it anymore, Harry," she said, quietly, rubbing her eyes. "We're no closer to figuring it out, and I can't keep hiding here."

"Parents still upset?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, wary.

"You have no idea. I thought I'd gotten through to them, just before this happened, but apparently not. As soon as I told them I had to leave to help Ron, they made me out to have been completely mental and delusional to have cared about him in the first place. It's almost as if they think he's truly as awful as he's acting now..."

"Doesn't make sense," Harry countered. "They know Ron. They've spent time with him since you've been back. And surely they know you're smart enough to choose good company. Besides that, they've never seemed the type to be so-"

"But they don't _trust_ me anymore, after what I did," Hermione cut over him, sighing, chest aching, overwhelmed. "And I can't see them right now if they want to stop me helping Ron. I've explained it to them. I can't do anything else, can I."

But she wasn't sure she could take another day of news secondhand, either. And as she closed her books, one at a time, she knew she had to go now, no matter how hard it would be to face.

"I've got to see him, Harry," she said, in a tiny voice.

Harry nodded.

"You know, Mrs Weasley asked me again to see if you'd come stay with us at the Burrow."

She swallowed, feeling nauseous.

"Aside from the chair," Harry continued, "he hasn't tried to hurt anyone. But we know nothing's changing like this. He's still shouting about the same things. Bloody Earl Grey..."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"What did you just say?"

"He was complaining again about the taste of Earl Grey tea."

"Bergamot..." she breathed.

"What?"

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, opening them again to a hazy dance of dark spots.

"Hermione?" Harry got up from his chair and moved to kneel in front of her, concerned. "When was the last time you ate something?"

"Nevermind, Harry," she brushed off, not stopping to contemplate how long it had actually been. Sod food, at a time like this. "The last time I saw him, at the Ministry, before the explosion, Ron mentioned that I-" but she broke off, overwhelmed. The sweetness and gentleness of his words and his tone and the bloody perfect scratchiness of his voice reverberated inside her.

 _You taste amazing._

Tears pooled in her eyes, and she blinked them free.

"He kissed me," she whispered, "and I'd just had Earl Grey for breakfast. The bergamot in the tea... he liked the taste of it."

Harry's eyes widened, and he puffed out a heavy breath.

"That's really strange. It's a very specific taste, isn't it."

Hermione nodded, clenching bed covers in her fists.

"I told you about the violets," she recalled, "what he said when I first saw him, during his interview with the healer?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, "only I assumed it made sense he'd smell your shampoo, the way you explained he was holding you, during the attack. But now..."

"Maybe it means something else."

Harry nodded.

"I'm coming with you, today, back to the Burrow," she said, sliding off the bed and flicking her wand, sending her books and notes into an organised, mid-air dance toward her bag.

"Hermione..."

She looked up to find Harry staring across at her, from the foot of the bed. The sympathy in his expression made her eyes water.

"He loves you. He's just forgotten what that means."

Tears slipped free to roll hotly down her blotchy cheeks as she nodded, roughly wiping her face with the back of her hand.

* * *

"Percy's the only one who can stay up there with him longer than a minute," Ginny was saying, "which is odd, considering their relationship."

Hermione glanced up from unpacking, watching as Ginny tucked fresh sheets into the camp bed Hermione would be using in Ginny's room for the time being.

"Actually," Hermione considered, "maybe that makes a lot of sense. He wasn't close with Percy, and now he doesn't have as strong of a pull with him to feel the opposite."

"That's a good point..."

Ginny tucked in the last corner of the sheets and sat on the edge of the now-made camp bed, staring up at Hermione as she finished unloading her books and notes onto the bedside table.

"What?" Hermione asked, catching Ginny watching her closely.

"Just..." Ginny trailed off, shrugging. "Be careful, will you? If your theory's correct, that he feels more intensely hateful towards the people he loved, and it's not just blind rage, then he'll feel it the most with you. Just don't want you getting hurt. I know you trust him, and it's hard, but that's not Ron up there. Not really."

Hermione stilled the trembling of her hands by pressing her palms to the cover of the book on top of the stack she'd made. Holding her breath, she nodded, looking away.

* * *

She had absolutely no plan whatsoever. She was standing on the landing outside his room, heart pounding a hole through her chest. It was so quiet, she wondered if he might be asleep...

And it was the thought of being able to see him that way, unconscious - without the harsh words and vile expression she'd seen from him before - that urged her forward, reaching for the handle and easily opening his surprisingly unlocked door.

But he wasn't asleep.

He was standing by the window across the room, boxes stacked against the wall to the left. His bed was stripped bare, and one of his dresser drawers was still gaping partly open, as if it had been shoved shut too hastily to properly close all the way.

She breathed unsteadily as she stared at his back from the doorway. It was much too easy, seeing him like this, to imagine that everything was normal... that she was merely here with him now after a short time away, waiting for the moment when he'd turn around and smile at her.

He did turn, then. But the expression he wore instead, before really seeing her, was one of utter annoyance at the intrusion... morphing quickly to sheer disgust as he fully took in the sight of her.

"What the hell do you want?"

She relaxed her gaze, allowing him to swim out of focus in front of her. She saw him now as only the blurry outline of his physical self. This way, maybe, she could forget, only for a moment...

"I see you've packed."

"Well spotted," he replied, sharply.

She resisted the urge to flinch. Or to run. She could choose to recognise his words as an echo of the ones she had said to _him_ , fourth year, the day he'd made that very astute observation... that she was a _girl_.

Or she could swallow the scream that threatened to boil up inside of her and speak to him again, ignoring the constant re-breaking of her heart...

"Where are you going?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain calm and level, despite the catch in her throat.

He laughed coldly, and she blinked, bringing him unfortunately back into focus. His cruelly burning eyes flashed back into hers, and she clenched her fists at her sides, focusing a part of her mind on her wand, tucked neatly into her back pocket, waiting.

"Have they sent you up, then?" he asked, a harsh sort of growl buried in his deep voice. "It's a useless waste of time. I'm moving out, and they can't stop me. _You_ can't stop me."

She shook her head, focusing everything now on responding to his words with a gentle tone, one that could at least make him hear how much she cared for him, whether or not it would matter... whether or not he would even notice.

"No one's sent me, Ron. And I'm not trying to stop you from doing anything. I only wanted you to know that I'm here, and I- I care so much about you. I love-"

Two strides. All it took were two, and she was frozen, his tall frame now halfway from the window to the doorway, where she still stood. He was partially silhouetted by the late afternoon light from the window behind him, and she noticed, absently, how his hair, glowing amber, gave off a strong impression of being currently on fire.

"Don't," he demanded.

Her feet were going numb, shock dulling her nerves as she resolutely stared back at him.

"You need to leave," he instructed, but she gave the tiniest shake of her head, and he advanced, two more paces.

She was holding her breath, then, so close to him that he was able, now, to almost whisper... and she could still hear him. Too clearly.

"Do you want me to make _sure_ you go? I can do that. You _care_ about me? Well, I despise you. The greatest achievement of my life would be never having to see you again. Are you starting to understand?"

He suddenly made a disgusted face and turned abruptly, reaching for a half-full glass of water sitting on top of his dresser. He drank quickly, eyes squinted shut, and let out a heavy breath, turning back to face her.

"Do you get it? Or are you just too thick? Get the fuck out of my house."

Small sparks danced mesmerisingly before her eyes, and her knees buckled.

"I don't care what you say," she whispered. "I know you're still here... I love you, Ron."

And the last thing she saw, as she fell to the floor, was his now-empty glass shattering violently as he threw it against the wall.

* * *

It couldn't have been long at all before she woke, sun glowing a deep red-orange through his bedroom window. Aside from the hardly changed light, she'd made a deal with Harry and Ginny that one of them would come for her if she was gone more than a quarter of an hour. And, as if on queue, she heard the thundering of concerned footsteps ascending the stairs.

Harry appeared suddenly in Ron's still-open doorway, kneeling quickly by Hermione as she pushed herself to sit up.

"You were right, Harry," she said, weakly. "I should have eaten something first."

"What happened?" he asked frantically, eyes darting from her surely pale face to the shards of broken glass scattered round to her left.

"It's alright," she said as she pushed up onto her knees, pausing briefly as a wave of dizziness passed through her. "He didn't hurt me-"

But that was when it occurred to her. She had passed out, as he'd been at the height of his anger toward her, worse than she had expected. And now, he was gone. But he hadn't harmed her. He'd done nothing.

"Harry." She stood too quickly, swaying slightly. Harry joined her and took her by the arm. "Did you see him leave?"

"No, he must have apparated straight from here to- ...wherever." Harry glanced around the room, eyes scanning over Ron's packed boxes. "I don't imagine he shared with you where he was planning to go?"

"No," she sighed shakily, "only that he was packing to move away. I don't expect he has any intention of giving us more information than that. And, of course, he left his room while I was unconscious, so your guess is as good as mine for where he's gone now."

"Wonderful."

"But, Harry," and she turned, leading him out of the room and onto the landing, "we should start making documentation of _everything_ he says and does when we see him. He could have thrown that glass at me. He was just mad enough to do it. But he didn't. And I was helpless, after that. He could have done anything he'd wanted, with me unconscious... but he left, instead. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but if he resisted... Well, it could be significant, if we can figure out some kind of a pattern."

"Maybe," Harry said, looking thoughtful as they started down the stairs, "but he didn't hesitate with the chair, remember?"

She chewed her lip, considering this conveniently forgotten piece of information. But figuring out his motivation was only a piece of it now. Worry crept through her empty stomach, a weight settling more noticeably in the centre of her chest.

"What do you think he's doing, right now?" she asked, not expecting a real answer. "I don't like not knowing where he is. He could be in trouble..."

"I know. But I don't think there's anything we can do about that," Harry sighed. "He's got to come back for his boxes, right?"

"I guess so..."

"We could snoop around his room while he's out," Harry suggested, apprehensively, "see if we can find anything that might point us to where he's planning to move, at least."

Hermione nodded vaguely, still feeling entirely too lightheaded.

"First things first," Harry added, glancing sideways at her, "Mrs Weasley's made a roast. We should eat... get some strength back..." But he seemed a bit uncomfortable all of a sudden, as if he wanted to say more but wasn't sure how.

"Go on," she urged, pausing at the next landing. "What is it?"

"Well..." he looked down at his feet, adjusting his glasses. "Don't hex me, but are you sure the only reason you fainted was lack of food?"

"What do you mean? I'm sure it was a _lovely_ combination of that and the way he was..." She swallowed, wishing to push his words as far to the back of her mind as possible. "He wasn't exactly polite."

"But you couldn't be... I mean, I've heard, sometimes, that when women are... Well, dizziness or feeling nauseous is-"

"Harry," she interrupted, catching on, "I'm not pregnant."

He looked relieved, but maybe a bit sceptical.

"Really. I can guarantee it, considering we never slept together..." she clarified, blushing.

He raised his eyebrows... cleared his throat.

"Oh."

"Bloody typical..." she sighed, prompting Harry to scratch his ear, puzzled.

"Typical?"

And she suddenly found that the tears she hadn't realised were coming had made a very dramatic appearance. Her vision blurred, and words rushed to the surface.

"W-We were supposed to spend the night together, the same bloody day he was p-poisoned!"

She trembled, and Harry winced apologetically.

"What if this is it?! What if we can never fix him, and he hates us for the rest of our lives? I know it's a bit ridiculous - we'd only been together a couple of months, really - but I honestly thought... Harry, I was done. I was going to spend the rest of my life with him, as long as he still wanted..."

But she couldn't finish that sentence, knowing now how true it had become... that he really didn't want her, anymore.

"I need a minute," she said, "before we go down."

"Yeah."

And they sat, together, on the edge of the landing, Hermione sniffing as Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm really sorry," he said, softly. "We _will_ figure this out."

"I'm not the only one he hates," she reasoned, and Harry nodded.

"True, but I know it's different, for you."

"Maybe not so much different than it is for _you_ , Harry." And she attempted a smile as he glanced over at her, replacing his glasses over his ears. "He's your best friend. Your brother, really."

"Yeah..." he smiled back, sadly. "Well. He loves us both... as much as we love him. And that's not gone. I know it isn't. Ron's still in there, and we'll find him."

* * *

It was well past midnight before he came back.

Harry and Hermione had cautiously returned to his room after dinner, to search through his belongings, in hopes that they could piece together where he was planning to move. The guilt at snooping through his personal items was outweighed only slightly by their need to keep him safe.

By the light of her wand, Hermione was staring, glassy-eyed, at a parchment from Gringotts, stating his vault balance and recent transactions. She felt her stomach twist, mentally apologising to him for looking at the document behind his back. But then she quelled her shame by acknowledging the fact that could Ron speak for himself, as the person he really was, he would surely want her to do this... to do whatever it took to bring him back.

"It's not specific enough, Harry," she sighed, blinking for the first time in too long, eyes burning. "He's taken out galleons yesterday, but it was a simple coin withdrawal, and there's nothing on file about his reasons for-"

A loud crack startled Harry and Hermione into jumping up from their positions, wands at chest height, aimed, they immediately recognised, for Ron's tall silhouette, where he was now suddenly standing in the centre of his room, backlit by moonlight flowing in through the window directly behind him.

"Expelliarmus!" he cried, before either of his opponents could respond. Gasping, Hermione stumbled backward, almost losing her balance as her wand flew from her grasp to roll across Ron's bare mattress.

"Ron-" she started, but Harry had put up a frantic shield charm, at the same instant that Ron had disarmed him as well. The shield charm wavered, blocking Harry temporarily from the other two.

"Hermione!" he shouted, glancing from Ron to her wand, where it had rolled to a stop, stuck in the space between Ron's mattress and the wall.

"Sod you both," Ron swore roughly, vanishing his stacks of boxes with a flick, a few stray papers floating to the floor.

Hermione had no time to turn her back to retrieve her wand. She saw only one thing, _knew_ only one thing... in an instant. If he left again now, with no reason to return to the Burrow, she might never find him again. Panic filled her as she watched him brace himself to apparate.

"Ron, WAIT!"

But she knew that he wouldn't.

She knew the risk. In the back of her mind, there was a very real chance that she could splinch and bleed to death...

But she did it anyway.

Ron's body was twisting, already disapparating, when she threw herself at him, clinging on to his shirt and scrambling for the flesh of his arm, beneath the hem.

"Hermione, NO!"

But the frantic sound of Harry's voice was abruptly cut off by the crack of her own body already being sucked away, nails sharply digging into Ron's bicep as she closed her eyes...

* * *

They arrived with a startling gust of wind, as if the physical space taken up by the air they had entered was literally hurled aside to make room. She stumbled to the floor as Ron glared down at her, panting fiercely, wand still tightly held aloft in his hand.

"Are - you - out - of - your - fucking - mind?!"

For a moment, she was sure she'd been splinched. It was the only logical reaction to have, after what she'd done, and the shock of her own decision. But, moving tenderly to sit upright again, she noted no signs of injury. Nothing. Not even a scratch or a missing fingernail.

She stared up at Ron's red face, lips parting.

"You could have _killed_ me!" she whispered, now overwhelmed with a different kind of shock.

"What?" he growled.

"Ron. You could have splinched me! But you brought me with you, and I'm fine!"

He breathed heavily for a moment before taking a step back.

"Don't know what you're on about... You're mad!"

She scrambled to her feet, standing before him as he lowered his wand and shook his head. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared up at him.

"You can't side-along someone unless you're really focusing," she started, trying her best to keep from crying in front of him now, "and why should you bother doing that? But you _protected_ me! You were splinched, last year, doing the same thing! You _hate_ me... and you saved my life! I couldn't have helped you do that!"

But he shook his head again, as if he hadn't really heard her.

"Ron?" she tried, voice shaky from shock. "Ron, can you hear-"

"What the bloody hell did you think was going to happen when you came here?" he interrupted, something oddly pitched about his tone, as if an unaware part of him was struggling furiously. "Fantastic. You see where I live now. Good luck walking home. You left your wand in my old bedroom, if you hadn't noticed..."

He turned his back on her and crossed the room, which she now saw was a rather cozy looking sitting area with a small fireplace, adjoining a kitchen on the far side. As she watched him walk to the sink, she tried to breathe, to consider her options. He was right. She had left in such haste, so desperate to maintain a link to his location. She hadn't considered how she would get back... only that she had to go with him.

She heard him spit violently into the sink, watching curiously as he made his way to a small box on top of a round table, reaching in and retrieving a glass before filling it with water... which he gulped down so fast she was afraid he might choke. Panting again, he lowered the glass with a shaky grip to the tabletop, and she was frozen as she watched him trembling, clutching the edge of the table as he slumped to sit on a ladder-backed chair.

"Hermione," he choked out, voice alarmingly deep, "what the fuck do you want with me? Why are you still here?"

She couldn't speak. The sound of his voice across her name that way... And she realised, just then, that it was the first time he had addressed her by name, since the attack. At the Ministry.

Since he had _changed_.

"You can walk to the Ministry from here," he continued, pressing his palms to the top of the table in front of him. But when she didn't move, he turned abruptly to glare across the room at her. "GO!"

His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, like bluebell flames. Her ribs were crushing her lungs beneath, surely. But the tone of his voice, demanding and with no room for conversation, had set her moving toward the door, without conscious thought.

With shaking hands, she managed to undo the latch, stepping out of his sight and into the corridor on the other side. Closing the door behind her with a soft click, she remained frozen, just there, leaning against his door for support, as she listened to the sound of his now-unfamiliar voice setting the wards inside, shutting her out more securely.

She took a final, shuddering breath before turning and taking note of the number on his flat door... 378. And, as she descended two flights of stairs, her mind began to clear, to return to the truth she had discovered... the one she now felt desperate to rush away and tell Harry and Ron's family all about.

Without her wand, he could have splinched her, or changed course and taken her somewhere else.

But he had brought her home. In quite a startling way, he had basically saved her life.

* * *

After some frustrating attempts to explain herself, she had finally managed to secure a way back to the Burrow. By using the Ministry's visitor's entrance and happening across someone she knew at the check-in desk, she was able to get in contact with a second shift wizard in maintenance who remembered who she was and was on his way out for the night. He'd flagged down the Knight Bus for her, to which she had been overwhelming grateful, and she had arrived in Ottery St Catchpole, at half past three in the morning.

Exhausted, she walked the short distance down from the village to the Weasleys' property, stepping through the wards and sighing with relief as she spotted Ginny sitting inside by a glowing fire.

As she walked inside, Harry's anxious face came into view, from around the corner.

"Oh, thank Merlin," he breathed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Ginny! She's back!" Ginny bounded into view as well, wide eyes landing on Hermione as she shut the door behind her and closed her eyes briefly.

"Oh my god, what happened?!" Ginny's face was even paler than usual. She moved closer to inspect Hermione, as if Hermione could be ready to literally fall apart on the rug at her feet.

"H-He d-didn't splinch me," Hermione whispered.

"We can see as much," Harry put in, stepping up closer as well, "but it's a bloody miracle."

"Harry," she said, more firmly this time, "he didn't splinch me!"

Harry took her by the arm and nodded.

"Come sit down. We were so damn worried about you. I was about to suggest we go to the Ministry for help, but we couldn't honestly figure out what the hell anyone would be able to do."

Silently, she followed Harry to the sofa, organising her thoughts. Then, she told them, in more detail, about her realisation, and what it could mean. Something in him may have fought to protect her, against the poison... against his illness.

After easing out the words she had to recall to explain, she went up to bed, shaking.

* * *

Morning came too quickly, and she had hardly slept. But Harry was dressed and ready to go by the time Mr Weasley left for work, and Hermione saw no reason to waste time trying to sleep when her body and mind would not fully let her rest anyway. Not now. Not like this.

They apparated together to a small copse of trees she had spotted at the end of Ron's block. Their plan today was only to get inside the building long enough to figure out the layout of Ron's flat. If they could do that, it would be easier to keep up with him... and to spy on him. His mother had wanted to see him, asking to come with them to confront him, but after discussing what had happened each time Hermione had seen him, they had reasoned that it might not be best to give the impression of ganging up.

Hermione could easily understand his mother's point of view, wanting more than anything to be there for him and to help him, but stalling at her own inability to set aside how it made her feel to hear him shout, harsh words of disgust from his voice and his lips, toward her. And Hermione had sensed a bit of relief at Mrs Weasley's agreement to stay home and to let Harry and Hermione continue to do whatever it took to fix him. The trust Mrs Weasley placed in her almost made her feel queasy, taking it as a burden she couldn't shake to call him back from whatever had taken hold of him, the moment he'd sacrificed his life for hers.

The knowledge that he hadn't known what that gas would do to the one who breathed it made it so much more weighty, in her mind. He hadn't known if he would suffocate, had likely accepted the possible outcome of his own death before doing what he had done... giving up his mask, the only defense he had, to guarantee her safety. It wasn't the first time he'd done such a thing for her. But she was seeing, now, the first serious consequences of such a choice.

She was lost in thought, then, when Ron suddenly appeared on the sidewalk, much too close. She clutched Harry's arm too hard, and he winced, freezing a second later as he saw what she had seen.

Ron was standing in front of his new building, talking to an older gentleman with wavy blond hair. Thinking fast, Harry grabbed Hermione by the wrist and ducked behind a long row of thick bushes, moving closer to overhear Ron's conversation, hidden from his view.

"...and I'll let your second room to the next applicant, unless you have someone in mind?"

"No," Ron answered, "that sounds fine."

"Let me know, of course, if you have any trouble with the room. You've paid through the end of August, so if there's nothing else, I'll see you on the 1st of September."

"Thank you, sir."

Hermione squeezed Harry's arm again, struck by Ron's politeness. A moment later, they could hear his footsteps, receding down the street, and Hermione sat back on the ground, rubbing her throbbing temples.

"Well," Harry sighed. "It's becoming pretty clear you were right about his attitude now being based somehow on important people in his life from before. He has no former connection to someone he's never met, so he's got no reason to hate them now."

Hermione nodded, considering something else. There was no point now in going inside, not if her plan could work.

"Harry, it sounds like he's got a second room in his flat for let."

"Right."

"Then you know what we have to do. We've got to find someone he doesn't know, but someone we can trust, to move into that room."


	3. August 1998: Part 2

**August 1998: Part 2**

"Sir," Harry said, pushing up his glasses as he addressed Gawain Robards, Hermione fidgeting to his left. "You knew him, too."

"I did, but he's been cleared by St Mungo's since the attack."

"But sir," Harry went on, paling a bit, "can you honestly say you understand why he would behave this way? He is- _was_ \- our best friend. More than that. And now..."

Hermione sniffed, looking away from Harry's pleading profile.

"And Hermione," Harry continued. She shut her eyes and gripped the arms of her chair. "I mean... he was ready to _die_ for her in that attack. How can you explain someone who loves you enough to risk dying in your place suddenly... despising you?"

Robards studied them for a moment before clearing his throat and leaning forward, over a sheet of parchment.

"Alright, Potter. But we've been investigating the attack, searching for the person responsible... We don't know the first thing about the weapons he used. It's something we've quite frankly never seen before. We've got a whole team working on it. What else do you intend for us to do?"

"We have an idea," Hermione said, shocked at the sound of her own broken voice, "but we need to open a case on Ron. And we need help from your office."

"We'll look into your concerns," Robards said, "and determine if we can proceed-"

"Sir," Harry pressed, "we can't wait. Whatever you need us to do to prove what we're telling you, we _will_ do it. But it needs to be now. You said it yourself - we don't know what he was exposed to or what else it could do to him. The longer we wait, the more we risk. And if we can figure out what's happening to him, it could bring you one step closer to finding the person responsible."

Robards studied them for a long moment before nodding and sitting up a bit further in his chair.

"I'm listening. What did you have in mind?"

* * *

It took two days, but they had done it.

Harvey Niles was in research, working for the Ministry's archives. He was a kind bloke, with sandy blond hair and freckles across his cheeks. He had spent a year abroad studying and was well liked by just about everybody.

And, underneath the disillusionment charms and fake identification, he wore round glasses, needed a haircut, and had a lightning shaped scar on his forehead...

"Harry," Hermione said, studying his disguise, "I don't see how Ron could possibly figure this out. It's brilliant."

With help from the Auror office, they had forged files on Harvey, creating a background for him in case things were ever called into question. Harry had applied for Ron's flat, as Harvey, and was now just waiting for a response. Robards had assisted in the disillusionment charms, with Hermione, and they were now, for possibly the first time, on a real, legal case.

Ron had been suspended from training... not that he had shown his face since the attack. Hermione's growing frustration in trying to predict Ron's next course of action was making her more and more anxious for _their_ next move. To be paying for a flat, he had to be planning to work, somewhere.

"I don't like this, waiting around," Hermione sighed, huffily flipping a page in the book she'd only been half reading.

"It's the best chance we've got," Harry reminded her, studying his disillusioned reflection in a tall mirror. "Robards said if it comes down to it, he'll send someone to talk to the landlord and make sure we get the room."

"Why the hell won't he just do that from the start?"

Harry's lip twitched as he turned to face Hermione.

"You're beginning to sound like _him_ ," he said softly, half-smiling before clearing his throat.

She swallowed a shaky breath, unwilling to let her heart beat faster.

"Nevermind," she said quickly. "If Robards won't trust us with how serious this is, then we'll just have to show him."

* * *

Three days later, they were sitting in a cafe four blocks over from Ron's flat, holding the key that Harry, disguised as Harvey, had picked up from the landlord that morning. Harry had since transformed back into himself, to report to the Ministry and meet Hermione.

"Harry, you're sure you've got the charm down, for your hair? And the one we talked about to change the colour of your eyes, and-"

"Hermione," he cut over her, twirling the flat key between impatient fingers, "we've been through this how many times?"

"I know," she huffed, "but this is so important, Harry. I won't be with you all the time anymore to help with the charms. We have to get this right."

"We will," he answered, confidently.

"You've got the bag with the books-"

"Right here," and he held up a small bag, charmed to open only at his touch.

She nodded, twisting a napkin tightly between both hands.

"And if you can't get in touch with me or the Aurors, for any reason-"

"-we meet at the Ministry canteen at eight the next morning," he interrupted again, "and if I can't make that, it's lunch at one."

She swallowed thickly, imagining days without contact already.

"But why would anything like that happen, Hermione?" Harry encouraged. "He'll know I work for the Ministry. If he checks up on me, we've seen to the records already. And he's not going to stop a stranger from doing their job. We wouldn't be doing this if we thought he was dangerous..."

Her eyebrows lifted for a moment, recalling how nearly scared of Ron she had been, even knowing what she had to do, and that it didn't matter if she had to be at the receiving end of violence to do it...

She shook her head, dropping her destroyed napkin to the tabletop.

"But if Ron figures out you're you-"

"-he'll fight with me about it, and we'll probably learn something."

She held her breath for a moment before puffing it out.

"I feel like we've missed something," she said, shakily.

"Hermione," Harry started, leaning forward a bit in his chair, "we don't really know what we're up against. And I'll admit that's a bit alarming, but this is what we do, isn't it? We run full force into whatever the problem is and we solve it, together."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Hermione said softly. "We don't have him with us this time. And how well did it go when he was gone, before?"

"We managed," Harry said weakly.

"We were rubbish without him, and you know it. And I'm not just talking about figuring out a clue or making it to a new location without getting ourselves killed. We don't... work right, when R-Ron's not there."

As soon as she'd spoken the words, she wished she could go back and erase the quiver from her voice across his name. She felt so small already, facing what they were doing. She knew the nerves of parting from Harry, of not being able to see what was happening, were catching up to her. But...

"Okay," Harry conceded, "but look. I'm going to see him every day. I'll report everything he does back to you. It's the closest we can get to being together right now. You're brilliant. And I'm... well, I've generally been rather lucky, I think. It'll work... because it has to work. We've done 'has to' before. We can do it again."

As much as she wanted to believe Harry's words, she couldn't untangle the knot in her stomach or loosen the stitch in her chest. And she couldn't stop the creeping fear that she might never see the real Ron, ever again...

* * *

She didn't sleep at all the first night. She lay atop her camp bed in Ginny's room, heart pounding as she imagined what Harry and Ron must be doing. _Sleeping, of course_ , her rational self told her. But as much as she knew that worrying senselessly would do no good, she couldn't help herself and was a solid, twisted ball of anxiety by the time she reached the Ministry canteen, half an hour early.

When Harry finally approached, it took her a moment to realise it was him, seeing him disguised as someone else. She jumped up, and he rushed to start speaking, before she could question him.

"Uneventful," Harry said mildly. "He had tea ready, when I went in. He asked me a little about myself and told me his name and that he was between jobs, and that was it. I started to ask about his family, but he avoided it and left me to unpack. He stayed in his room til half seven, came out and went down the block for takeaway."

She let out a shivery exhale and sat back down at a table with Harry.

"Doesn't it seem odd he'd live in a shared flat anyway?" Hermione asked, chewing her bottom lip.

"Yes, except..." Harry paused and shook his head. "I imagine he can't afford living on his own, but couldn't stand to stay at the Burrow a second longer..."

She closed her eyes and nodded. This was true, of course. They'd barely left school, spent a year running... of course he didn't have a secret stash of galleons.

"You think you can ease into talking to him more - about his family, school, _anything_ \- without coming across suspicious?"

"He doesn't seem that keen to make friends, but he's been polite enough, and I think I can work on it."

Head pounding, she fell silent again, lost in a frantic internal search for another question, _anything_ that could be answered.

"Honestly," Harry started, voice a bit lower and softer, "it's doing my head in."

"Being near him?" she asked at a near-whisper.

"Yeah. He's supposed to be... Ron. Looks like him, moves like him... but-" he broke off.

She shuddered as she imagined the feeling, constantly being around someone she loved who didn't even know her. But it wouldn't do to dwell on all they had lost. All they could do was hope to find it again, set their sights far ahead and keep walking.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Hermione reported back and forth to magical law, checked in on the case to locate the still-missing criminal responsible for the Ministry attack, and spoke to St Mungo's again, finally getting through to a healer who agreed to owl Ron a request to come in for a "routine check-up, following a serious trauma." Though there was a chance Ron would turn down the appointment, Hermione suspected that he wouldn't have a strong reason to, with her and Harry seemingly out of the picture.

She was right, and the next day, Harry reported seeing a follow up letter from St Mungo's on the kitchen table while Ron was in the shower. He had evidently accepted and had been scheduled for the end of the week.

Now, with her tasks accomplished for the time being, Hermione was desperate to see Ron again and had a plan worked out to do it. Her legs bounced beneath the table at the Ministry cafeteria, not touching her food.

"Last night," Harry said, over his now-routine breakfast with Hermione, "we got up to a game of cards. He mentioned something vague about Hogwarts, and I tried to get him talking on that subject, but he changed topic quickly and went off on football statistics for the next quarter of an hour..."

"Football?" Hermione questioned, surprised.

"Yeah. Odd. Unless he's developed a recent interest in Muggle sports?"

Hermione shook her head, almost smiling.

"You know... perhaps he's onto football from talking to my dad."

Harry raised an eyebrow as he bit into the corner of a slightly burnt piece of toast.

"Or," he said, round the toast, "the real Ron thinks it's dead boring, which makes the new Ron think it's brilliant."

 _New Ron._

The words nearly made her sick.

"That's... likely," she admitted, reaching for her quill to make additional notes, adding to a thick stack of slightly crumpled sheets, bound together by clips and twine. "Listen, Harry," she pressed on, still scribbling, "I thought I might come by the flat tonight."

"Hermione," Harry warned, "don't expect anything to have changed. He's polite to me because he doesn't have a history with Harvey."

"I know," she sighed, completing her notes and shuffling her parchment back into vague order. "But he left some things in my trunk at my parents' house. I thought I might return them... as an excuse to see him."

As she looked up to meet Harry's gaze, she found the most painfully pitying expression etched across his face. She wanted to scream all her frustrations at him, to make him understand that as much as she listened to her head, she had to also listen to her heart. It didn't make sense. It wasn't who she _was_ , really. But, it was who she was... with _him_. It had to mean something.

"Harry, stop," she said firmly, sniffing as she shoved her notes into her bag. "I _know_. But what good is it studying him and only using someone who has no effect on him? It's great we can keep up with what he's doing that way, but we have to do more than that."

Yes, it functioned as a convenient excuse to see him. But it was also the truth.

"You're right," Harry said softly, "but I know that's not the only reason you want to visit. I just... I honestly don't know which is worse - the way he hates us when he knows who we are or being with him and seeing him so unlike himself, but calm about it. I know you're brilliant, and you know what you're doing, but this is Ron. And I also happen to know how you feel about him."

"Stop being perceptive," she sighed. "I'm coming over. I'll see you around eight, okay? Just remember, you don't know me. We've never met."

* * *

She wondered if he could hear the hesitation in her knock. Her hands were shaking, her heart beating too rapidly, cold sweat at the base of her neck.

There was a solid chance he wouldn't let her in. She had counted on this, but she wasn't sure what she could do if he wouldn't. She was carrying a small box of his things, and as she waited for someone to come to the door, she was struck with exactly what she was doing, outside the strategy for which she had planned.

She was returning every last item she had of his. She would be left with nothing.

Sucking in a sharp breath, she pressed the box between the wall and her stomach and reached in, removing a faded Cannons t-shirt and clutching it to her chest, closing her eyes. Waving her wand, she banished it back to her room at her parents', absently wondering if they had returned home from work yet. She hadn't seen them in over a week...

And that was when the door flew open, Harry, disguised perfectly as Harvey, standing politely on the other side.

"Oh, hello," he said, jovially. "And you are?"

"Hermione Granger," she answered, startled momentarily by the shuffling behind Harry, as Ron approached from across the room.

"I'm Harvey Niles. And you must be a friend of Ron's?"

"No-" Ron started, still out of her sight, blocked by Harry until he stepped aside to allow her entry.

She moved inside quickly, spotting Ron at last.

"She's not my friend," Ron objected, glancing toward Harry, who was already shutting the door again.

"Oh?" Harry questioned, feigning confusion.

"What are you doing?" Ron demanded of her, ignoring Harry now completely as Hermione approached slowly with her box.

"You left some things at my parents' house..." she began, leveling her voice as she separated a piece of her mind from this moment, "a couple of shirts and books, a pair of socks, and a comb you had in Australia. Plus, I've added the bag I packed for you when we were planning- on the day of the attack, when we were going to-"

"Fine," he cut her off. "Drop the box and leave."

But she wasn't close enough yet. She wondered if she would be able to tell, the very moment he could smell her. She was wearing the perfume he had given her, fifth year... the one that was laced with bergamot. She had duplicated it some time ago, sentimentally wanting to keep it forever, though she hardly ever wore perfume, to begin with.

One more step, and he wrinkled his nose. She smiled at him, as kindly as she could, ears ringing.

He narrowed his eyes and sniffed, uncomfortably.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "Put down the box and-"

"Ron," she interrupted, "your place looks nice."

"Leave."

She clutched the box more tightly to her chest.

"I was wondering if you could use some help?" she carried on, voice rising in pitch as she tried to contain herself.

He laughed, derisive and cold.

"From _you_?"

Her hands shook against the box, and she gripped more tightly, hoping to still them, knuckles turning quite white.

"Of course not," Ron scoffed. "And it's a good thing you're bringing my stuff back. Now I'll have no reason at all to see you, ever again.

"Well," she said, voice wavering near-uncontrollably. She could only hope he hadn't heard. "You don't have to like me, of course, but I thought I'd be able to help with-"

He reached forward and took the box from her as she gasped, her grip slackening with surprise. And, without another word, he turned his back on her, crossing the room to the small hall that lead to his bedroom. He went through, into flickering lantern light, and shut the door behind him with a bang.

A ringing silence filled the room before her tears fell.

"Could have been worse," Harry whispered, as she finally remembered how to use her legs.

She walked straight for Ron's door, defiant.

"Ron, I'm not going to give up on you! So either you get used to it, or you don't. But I'll still be here!"

There was a brief pause before she heard him move, on the other side of the door.

"Get out of my house," he said firmly, voice far too loud, too close, just there on the the other side...

And it came to her, just then, like the flicking of a Muggle light switch. She had been too focused on fixing him to properly regret... But it was her fault.

 _Her fault._

If she hadn't been wandering the corridors, at the Ministry... If she hadn't shown up early... If she hadn't asked him to spend the night with her...

No one had expected her to be where she was. They hadn't prepared for one extra person. He had given up his own protection to save her, because she'd been where she didn't belong.

She was suddenly shaking, head to toe, catching a glimpse of Harry's concerned face, disguised as someone she didn't know. A sob slipped free, and she turned away from Ron's door, passing Harry where he had moved down the hallway toward her. She continued back into the sitting room, standing in the open space between the fireplace and the sofa, clouded vision giving her a limited view of the room.

The desperation of the moment made her think impossible things. Could she take his place? She would do it. Take what he had instead. He could live, with his own heart, his soul, his life. _She_ could be the one trapped in a person no one recognised.

The world seem to fall away, and she was stuck in her own tumbling mind, hardly registering the sounds of her cries, tears streaming down her face.

But then, as suddenly as it had left her, some kind of strength came back. The impossible things seemed quite impossible again. And it was as impossible to believe that she could change it as it was to believe that he was gone forever.

She placed the weight of fixing it firmly back on herself. And it wasn't a burden. It was her freedom. She clung to it, literally clenching her fists at her sides before reaching up and wiping her face on the sleeve of her shirt. When she turned around, Harry's disillusioned face was staring back at her. And his look of heartbreaking concern slowly morphed to something else. He could see what had changed in her.

She could oblige Ron's request and go away. Or she could fight and refuse to give in, in direct opposition to what he demanded... which, she rationalised, was likely exactly what the real Ron would want. If the poison was reversing his mind, she'd do exactly the opposite of what he said he wanted.

"Okay," she said, sniffing roughly. "I'm not leaving yet."

* * *

For a long while, they simply sat in silence, her and Harry. It would be unwise to speak of anything telling while Ron could possibly hear them from his room. But the longer they waited, night falling thick around them, the more likely she thought it was that he had simply fallen asleep now, in his room.

Harry moved to start up a fire, and an idea struck her. Reaching into her charmed bag, she removed a blank sheet of parchment and a self-inking quill.

 _Do you know if he locks his bedroom door at night?_

She passed the note to Harry, as he resumed his seat on the sofa next to her.

His eyebrows lifted, but he didn't look at her, scribbling his reply and passing it back.

 _No idea. What are you thinking?_

Thoughts still forming, she began to answer him.

 _Remember sixth year, when he was poisoned, and I wasn't speaking to him? Before he woke up, we heard him say something that sounded like my name. He wouldn't admit that he cared while he was conscious. But he couldn't help it, while he was asleep._

She stared at her own writing for a moment before shoving the parchment into Harry's lap. She watched his eyes dart back and forth as he read. Once he finished, he looked up and met her eyes, casting her a rather thoughtful expression. Snatching the quill from her hand, he wrote quickly back.

She leaned closer, able to read as he wrote.

 _You're going to watch him sleep? What if he wakes up and hexes you? He'll be furious if he finds out you're in his room._

She shook her head, leaning over Harry's lap to write without taking the parchment back.

 _No, he won't. He'll stop himself before he'll do it. And that's exactly what we want - that's proof._

She wasn't as confident as she sounded in the words she'd written. But seeing determination in her own handwriting somehow made her feel less weak, less uncertain.

Meeting Harry's slightly fearful but curious eyes, she withdrew the parchment from his lap and stood, kneeling by the hearth and catching the corner on fire, watching it burn for a moment before dropping it into hot, licking flames. Once the charred paper had turned completely to ash, she stood again, nodded at Harry, and, without another word, headed down the hallway toward Ron's room.

She pressed her ear to the door, absurdly wondering if he could hear the pounding of her heart.

Dead silence rang back, and she clutched her wand, shakily reaching out for the door handle. She counted to three, inside her head, and she was set, determined as she turned the handle... pushed open the door.

He was lying in bed on his back, one bare foot sticking out the end of his quilt. Faint snores were issuing rhythmically from him, and she noted his naked chest, discarded clothes on the floor nearby. Soft moonlight illuminated his pale skin, drifting in through the gap in the curtains over his single window. It was already somehow staggering, to see him at peace, unconscious. He could have been himself, with no question. It would have been impossible to tell the difference.

But as she moved closer, she caught sight of his wand, lying on the bed next to him, literally an inch from the fingertips of his right hand. He was so guarded in sleep. Not that this came as any great surprise. He was living with a stranger. Yet again, at opposition, was the fact that he would even consider doing so, and that he would be so careless as to leave his bedroom door unlocked, uncharmed, but sleep with his wand basically in hand.

Moving closer, she knelt by his bed, hardly breathing. His head was turned right, on his pillow, angling in her direction. Sitting down on her heels, she could nearly count every freckle across his face, even in the dark. Aside from his raging moments toward her, she hadn't been this close to him since the attack at the Ministry.

She was taking a risk now of him waking up, but she mouthed his name, breathing her voice across it just enough that maybe he would hear her in his sleep.

When he didn't move, she considered saying it again, but her eyes trailed down his arm to his wrist, drawn to the jagged curve of bone under papery, freckled skin.

His fingers twitched. She breathed inconsistently through her mouth as her eyes shot back up to his face.

She wasn't sure how long she stared, waiting. But when nothing happened, when he made no sounds or movements to indicate her presence had interrupted him, she lifted her hand, eyes drifting back down his arm until her fingers were hovering over his wrist. She could feel his warmth, this close.

Hand still balanced mid-air, caught between the desperate need to feel him and the resistance she forced forward to keep him unconscious, she leaned her upper body in... closer, closer... until her face was inches from his.

Her hair fell forward.

Nearly gasping, she watched as thick tendrils curtained around them both, surely enveloping him in the scent of her violet shampoo.

His forehead creased with something like confusion. And then, so softly, she dropped her hand the nearly nonexistent distance that separated her fingertips from his wrist. And she touched him.

The lines across his face eased. Muscles softened. And, without realising it, tears began to fall silently from her eyes, running down her face, dropping off the edge of her jaw to dampen his sheets.

* * *

"I saw him," she said, voice breaking, "the real Ron."

Once she'd finally dragged herself out of Ron's room, Harry had followed her down from the flat to the street, and they'd started to walk the block before she managed to get the words out.

"I can't believe he didn't wake up..."

"Harry," she continued, "it was like he... like my presence was... _comforting_ , to him."

Harry glanced sideways at her as they continued to walk.

"What do we do now?" he asked, sighing.

"No idea..."

* * *

On Friday, Harry managed a peek at Ron's results from his appointment at St Mungo's. Nothing had turned up out of the ordinary, which dampened the slightly optimistic mood Hermione had lingered in since she'd watched Ron sleeping.

But a small piece of interesting news came the following Monday, when Harry reported Ron had been applying for work.

"He hasn't said where he's applying?" Hermione asked, over lunch.

"No," Harry answered, tucking into a withering salad and small slice of pie. Hermione pushed her half-eaten meal to the side and spread her notes across the table instead.

"Anything he enjoyed before seems to repulse him now," Hermione went over again, "so he'll do something completely unexpected."

"I imagine I'll know something soon."

"You've been in the lab this morning?" Hermione asked him, sniffing. Of course she knew if anything had been discovered, Harry would have told her immediately. But she had to ask about it, anyway.

"Yeah. Guess what we found?" he sighed, reaching for a glass of pumpkin juice.

"Nothing."

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Harry joked, taking a long drink before setting his cup back on the table. "Honestly, aside from Robards and our friends from school and his family, I'm having trouble convincing people Ron's actually been poisoned... or whatever we're calling this bollocks. Loads of people he knew from training simply think he's acting on some personal thing between the three of us."

"That's insane!" Hermione shouted, too loudly. She winced at her own raised voice.

"I know," Harry agreed, "but when St Mungo's clears you and says they can find no traces of poison or any unknown substances whatsoever..."

"Harry," she said weakly, "what do we do now? We're out of logical options completely... I'm coming by the flat again, on Friday. Let me know if you find out he won't be home."

"Still onto the idea of shocking new Ron out of him?" Harry teased, but Hermione's expression remained quite serious. In all honestly, that was nearly exactly what she planned to do.

"It's either that," she said, "or keep going over the same things. It's mental, doing something exactly the same way a second time and expecting the results to be different. But what else can we do?"

* * *

Her strategy was only to continue acting as if everything on her side of things was still just fine. She hoped, that in being kind to him, he would see some sort of mistake in his reaction to her. Or, if she could get him angry enough that he had to fight with himself not to harm her...

She'd risk it.

By Friday morning, her impending visit had her both nervous of time moving forward and incredibly anxious for the evening to arrive. But, so close to the end of August now, she knew what she had to do. And as the sun began to set around the Burrow, she pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from Ginny's desk...

 _Professor McGonagall,_

 _I am so sorry, but I feel that I must now resign my position at Hogwarts this year. Perhaps you have heard, but Ron Weasley was present during the attack on the Ministry on the 30th of July, and he is suffering some sort of personality distortion as a result of exposure to an unknown gas. No one has any answers or seems to know what to do to treat him. For now, all we can do is hope that he will eventually be cured, either by a medical breakthrough, catching and questioning the wizard who initiated the attack, or by some sort of therapy or personal recognition of what's happened to him._

 _I cannot leave him in this state. I truly hope that you will understand and forgive my lateness in resigning. I had only hoped that things would be back to normal by now, but I can see that this is not the case and that Ron's illness is going to take much more work to solve than I had much too optimistically assumed._

 _Please know that I take my education just as seriously as I ever have, and I would like to ask for acceptance another year, if you would be willing to take me back._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Hermione Granger_


End file.
